Overlap
by Zakle
Summary: Vernon was dead. Three words and their whole world was upturned. Now, Harry has to deal with a timid Dudley, an increasingly paranoid aunt, and newfound freedom of speech. Dudley is having dreams of which he won't speak about. And, lurking around them, are two strange men who seem to know them more than they know themselves. ON HIATUS.


A/N: This is an AU - like most of my writings - and doesn't follow canon, not even personalities at times. This is also a Dursley redemption fic and will heavily center around family. Please don't expect me to turn out this many words for each and every chapter. I was hit by an odd nerve of inspiration around midnight and I wrote well into the morning so there might be some mistakes I've overlooked. It took six hours.

* * *

Harry James Potter had always felt different, separate, from his Dursley relatives. And it wasn't because he slept in the cupboard. Oh, no, Harry felt something else. He felt different from everyone he'd ever had the chance to meet - not like that was a big number or anything. He was mostly crammed into his cupboard when they had guests.

Some may wonder why he wasn't angry. He was. When Harry was angry things had a tendency to break, go missing, catch on fire, or explode. Once things calmed down, and the Dursley's stopped freaking out, they would immediately blame Harry and off he'd go to his 'bedroom' under the stairs.

Which was where he was currently, sitting in his cupboard, poking at the legs of a long dead spider. He really should throw it away whenever he gets out.

"How did they know it was me?" He groaned and gingerly brushed the deceased arthropod under a loose piece of paper he had found in Dudley's room in the boy's trash bin. It, for Harry doubt it was human, had seven oddly bent legs, three heads, and five forked tongues. He ought to return the thing since Dudley appeared upset when he realized it was missing from his room. Harry scoffed and rolled his green eyes heavenward. How was he to know not to touch a drawing he found in the TRASH?

For the tenth time since he'd brought it back to his bedroom, he stared at the image, his head tilting on its own accord as his brain tried to reason on what it was.

Maybe a spider? Harry glanced at the single hairy leg poking out from under the paper and decidedly shook his head. Obviously not. Vernon? Again his head tilted in another direction. No, no, not it. Dudley admires his father.

"Yuck," Harry whispered, shuddering at the thought that anyone would admire Vernon Dursley, even his own son. Somehow it made it worse when they were related.

After his mild disgust had passed, he quickly went back to examining the crudely drawn picture. "A monster?" His brow furrowed. No, Dudley doesn't have an imagination. Or ... Harry paused. Did he? The idea of Dudley, the mini-whale, having a dream land of ponies made a wide toothy grin stretch across Harry's face. He now looked at the drawing with deviously glinting eyes.

He spent nine hours locked in the cupboard in one spot, eyes staring up at one corner, his mind wandering.

At half-past eight the cupboard was unlocked and his blonde aunt Petunia's narrowed eyes peered at him from the other side.

"Get out. Dudley is having friends over and you need to make the snacks." Her voice was distracted, distant as though her mind were elsewhere. Harry meet her eyes and was alarmed at what he saw - tears. His aunt had been crying. The shiny edges of her eyes were more than enough proof. Politely, he pretended not to notice.

Swift as a fawn, he ducked under the near-skeletal form of his aunt and hurried off to his second home, his home-within-the-house. The kitchen. It was brightly lit against the dark backdrop of sleepy Privet Drive.

It was late for visitors and it was strange for even Petunia to allow her son to have his friends over. Harry made quick work with Petunia hovering over his shoulder, her strange demeanor from before replaced with the more familiar one. He worked until nine but Dudley's friends had yet to arrive so Harry was allowed to stay out in the house. Only to clean, though, which was fine by everyone. He stayed out of their way, they stayed out of his way. It was win-win.

Or it would've been if he hadn't heard the crying.

Harry froze. Mind fought with heart - logic against morals - and he gently placed the laundry basket on the floor. Either way, he had no need of it. He got down onto his knees and began to crawl away. He managed to get to the stairs before his damnable heart won out. Groaning silently, he slowly got back up on his feet using the wall for support, and, with slight hesitance, he pushed Petunia and Vernon's bedroom door open.

He expected to see Petunia or maybe even Vernon. It was actually Dudley.

"H-Harry?"

"Dud-Dudley?"

"Get out!"

"Okay."

Harry slammed the door shut and hurriedly backed away. He ran down the stairs, ignoring the shrill cries of his aunt, and scurried back into his cupboard. His chest heaved and he tried to catch his breath, his mouth open, brow furrowed in unadulterated confusion.

Why was he crying? Why was Petunia crying? Harry cracked the cupboard door open. The shrill crying, once thought to be aimed at Harry himself, was actually aimed at a uniformed man. A policeman. Behind him stood another with pale, colorless hair and sharp eyes. He caught Harry looking and smiled. Leaning into the other man, Harry saw his mouth move, and, much to his shock and confusion, both strangers looked at him.

"I had a dream." Harry jumped. He hadn't realized Dudley joined them downstairs.

"A dream?" the first man asked, kneeling in front of him, and giving Harry (and the colorless man) perfect views of each other.

Dudley didn't answer or he couldn't answer because he had started crying again. Petunia, who had been able to calm down, resumed crying as well.

Harry watched this all in even more confusion. He bit his lip, wondering if he should stay in the cupboard and wait or go out there and find out. The decision to decide was taken away when the door was snatched from his hands.

"Hey!" Harry yelped.

"My name is Jerome Blackwell and I'm a policeman. This man here is my partner Miles Grain," the first man, Jerome, said, a large hand on the top of the door. He wasn't that tall of a man but he towered over the too-small Harry. The second man, Miles, was still standing where he last stood when Harry saw them - in the kitchen doorway. He was staring with his peculiar eyes at Dudley, his hand grasping at something in his coat pocket. He, like before, had felt Harry looking and turned his head to meet Harry's gaze. Harry snapped his eyes to the floor, his cheeks reddening.

Harry awkwardly rested a hand on the cupboard side, his free arm resting underneath the other arm's elbow. "So," he ventured, eyes roaming to anywhere but Jerome, Miles, Petunia or Dudley, "what's going on?"

Jerome coughed into a balled fist. "Uh, well, about that." He sighed. "Look, kid, there's no easy way about this. Your uncle is Vernon Dursley?"

Harry didn't move and stayed silent.

"He's dead. Someone killed him."

Everything stopped. Vernon was dead. Harry felt his face go numb and suddenly the air coming through his nose hurt. Even though he couldn't understand why, even though he hated Vernon and would sometimes wish him harm, even though Vernon never treated him like family, Harry James Potter, the child the Dursley's hadn't wanted and often mistreated, cried.

The policeman rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry, kid." But Harry was too far gone to hear him, his cries much too quiet when compared to his cousin and aunt. The strangers carrying the bad news left, each leaving a card on the table, the colorless man not looking at anyone as he did so.

Petunia was the first to compose herself. She guided Dudley to his bedroom where she stayed with him until he fell asleep, much too afraid for him to leave her sight. Harry had closed the cupboard door before she could see him and was left by himself for the entire night.

* * *

Morning came. The sun rose. And the Dursley's were still in bed. Harry found it eerie to have the couch to himself, to be even sitting on the couch, in the living room, was strange. It was silent. No Vernon.

Harry still felt numb but he wasn't crying anymore. For a nine-year-old, he wasn't much of a crier and usually held his own well. He didn't understand why he cried for Vernon, though, but uncertainty chalked it up to the moment. With Petunia and Dudley, maybe it was contagious. Like laughter. Or a smile.

His leg twitched uncontrollably and be bit his lip, the desire to do something, anything overpowering the want to do nothing. The small boy wandered into the kitchen. He reached first for the dishes and grabbed three plates before he remembered. He held the plate and, not willing to put it up, set it down on the counter. He didn't miss Vernon, not at all, but it felt weird to put away something he should've used. It was out of habit that Harry also began brewing coffee. It had already began by the time he realized.

Stupid habit, he thought.

Breakfast was done when Petunia rolled out of bed.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't be-" She stopped mid-sentence, taking in the food. Her mouth flew open, closed, opened. Like a door with a broken hinge. She found her courage to speak too late because Dudley then wandered in, a lost dazed look in his eyes. Well, more of a lost daze look than normal. Harry flinched at his crude thinking but he couldn't help it. Dudley deserved worse, he thought, but the nagging guilt forced him to speak out.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, biting the inside of his cheek. Dudley stopped mid scoop and nodded without looking up. He continued to dip his plate and, surprisingly, it wasn't much. Just one egg, a small piece of bacon, and a sad looking pancake Harry was ashamed to say he made.

Petunia sat down at the table, not reaching out to eat anything. They sat (or stood in Harry's place) in silence. Silence, as they say, was deafening. You heard things in the silence. For Dudley, it was the sound of the newspaper, untouched on the table. For Petunia, it was the sound of a hearty laugh when agreeing to marry him. For Harry, it was the sound of life, of the heavy breathing, the equally heavy footsteps, and the harsh, uncaring words of a man many times his size.

"We're moving." The boys looked at Petunia who was biting at one of her previously flawless nails. Harry realized she had bitten them all down sometime in the night. Her fingers were red, the bottom of the nails swollen, the tips - where she had bitten too much - had begun to bleed. Harry had never seen her like this and the sudden change jolted a feeling of sickness in his stomach. It was too much, too soon.

He had thought Dudley might put up a fight to moving away from where all his friends were but Harry was, once again, proved wrong when the boy simply nodded.

"Aunt Petunia, why are we moving so soon? I mean it just happened." Harry's voice started off strong but by the end of it, his voice was weakened. He had to clear his throat and blink his eyes. Too much, too soon indeed.

"We have no choice. Marge wants the place sold as soon as possible to cover " Petunia closed her eyes, her lips quivering, "the thing that must be done," she allowed herself, not actually speaking the word. Funeral. Harry, against his will, shuddered at the word he uttered mentally.

"Where will we live?"

"A very small house."

Harry frowned. That didn't answer his question.

"You don't know," he commented.

Petunia shrugged. "We'll go house hunting a few months from now. We don't need to decide right now." Her voice had grown quiet. "I'm going upstairs."

Dudley pushed his plate away, with the same food he put on it, and diligently followed his mum.

Harry was once again left by himself and the silence that found him was overwhelming enough for him to wish Vernon was still around to yell at him.

* * *

Harry scowled up at the house Petunia had just bought with the help of Marge. It was small, with only one bedroom, a narrow kitchen/living room, and an oddly placed bathroom that looked as though drunk men had put it together in a night. Actually, the entire house looked like that. Harry had said it out loud as well. Petunia glared at him at first but Dudley, who hadn't said anything in over four months, chuckled. Her eyes softened and, eyeing Harry, she stiffly nodded and looked away. Those looks, when Harry managed to get a reaction out of Dudley, were the new normal for the Dursley and Potter household.

It was better than the yelling, name-calling, and 'Harry-Hunting' from their old lives but ...

It was different and Harry quickly found he didn't much like change that happened fast.

"Let's go check out our new home, Dudders," Petunia said cheerfully, a fake bright grin on her hollowed face. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him in. Harry followed on his own, nose wrinkled at the strange smell of the house.

"It smells," he complained.

"That's because no one's lived here for four years." She wasn't actually answering him, as Harry found out a week before they bought the house and moved, she was answering - in her mind - questions she thought Dudley might want to know. Since Harry was asking them he thought she would be cold, but she was being civil which was more than Harry could ask for, never mind as to why she was answering. She was still answering. That was the only thing he liked about the sudden changes. Harry was being heard.

Dudley shrugged, his only form of communication for 'hungry,' 'bored,' 'leave me alone,' 'I don't care,' 'whatever,' 'are we there yet?' and many other varied things. Lately, it's come to mean nothing.

Harry frowned. "Wanna go see if we can find some treasure?" Harry asked when Petunia's back was turned.

Dudley shrugged but began to walk around, kicking at the ground as he walked.

Nothing he said seemed to make Dudley angry or resentful. It was like the boy was dead instead of Vernon.

Harry and Dudley searched high and low for 'treasure.' They found a broken string, several old boxes filled with very old books, and a box of matches. Dudley searched through the books and seemed disinterested in ever moving. Harry left him in the attic to find Petunia.

Petunia was slamming doors opening and walking through all the rooms and re-walking them since there weren't that many to begin with. When she spotted Harry coming down the ladder leading to the attic, she pounced with hysterical questions.

"He's in the attic," Harry managed to get out through her yelling. She was heaving, tears in her eyes. "We found some books and he wanted to look through them." Harry, himself, didn't find them interesting.

"Oh, I thought ... no, never mind. I'm going to the store to get some food." Her eyes wandered to the ladder before she bent down to Harry's ear. "Watch him."

Harry sighed but didn't say anything as he watched his aunt drive off down the long dusty driveway. He reluctantly went back to the attic.

Ever since her husband's death, his aunt had been placing Dudley more and more into Harry's care, even going so far as to leave them alone for two days when she left to find them a new home.

Dudley was just as Harry had left him - hunched over the books, eyes blankly reading them over. Three books were in a different pile from the others.

Harry touched one with his foot before he crouched down and turned it around so he could read it. In bold black letters, it read The Magicians' Code. There was no author on the cover. It was black, with nothing else on it.

He was about to ask why Dudley would want to read it when another book was added to the pile and he finally understood. The pile was a pile of rejects.

"Find anything good?" Harry asked even though he knew he would only get a shrug. And there it was - the notorious shrug. It had been so long since Dudley last spoke that Harry had forgotten what his voice sounded like.

He scooted over and pointed at the cover of a thin, bound book. The title had long since faded away. Dudley obviously knew what it was because as quickly as he had shown Harry, he had hidden it away in his overnight bag. Harry spied two more books in there before Dudley zipped it up.

They began to search through the books some more, with Dudley adding seven more books, and Harry, with a shrug from his cousin, had nabbed the books on magic. With the sticky fingers of children, they had taken nearly all of the books out of the boxes before Petunia had arrived home.

* * *

Five months had passed, Petunia had found a shaky job at a shady restaurant, and Dudley (with Harry) had begun homeschooling. Since there were no neighbors around they spent all of their time with each other. Harry didn't like it. And Dudley didn't seem to either if the scowl was anything to go by. They had no choice if they didn't wish to go crazy by the silence.

"I'm going to the kitchen to do the dishes. Do you want anything?" Dudley shrugged and went back to his book. The books, as it turned out, were all art books. He at first seemed confused so Dudley didn't know what they were either but the more that he read, the more Harry found him with a pencil and paper.

Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes, and walked barefoot to the kitchen which was only five feet away from the boys' shared room. That was another change. Harry was allowed a room, the only bedroom, in the house. Petunia slept on a pullout bed that doubled as their couch. Harry still had to do the cleaning, the gardening, and everything else Petunia didn't want to do so that was still the same.

He sniffed, rolled up his sleeves, and began to scrub at the dishes, which seemed to never be done. It didn't take long so he went outside, still barefoot, to do the weeding in the small, newborn garden Petunia wanted to be planted five weeks ago.

Petunia arrived home when Harry stopped to take a break.

"Where's Dudders?" Harry wordlessly pointed inside. The frail woman he'd known for the past five months carried three large shopping bags in both hands inside. She looked over her shoulder and impatiently waved him in.

When they were all sitting at the small dining table, Dudley's sketchbook resting next to him, Petunia excitedly placed one bag in front of him and, Harry rubbed his eyes, placed one in front of Harry who had never had a present before in his life. The last she placed on the ground next to her so Harry guessed it must belong to her.

Dudley pulled out a brand new pair of sneakers, another sketchbook, pencils, two art books, a light jacket, and paint. He smiled.

Harry, on the prompting of Petunia and a silent Dudley, felt around the bag. He, too, had a pair of sneakers, but that was where the similarities ended. There was a pair of thick gardening gloves, a new scrub brush, a wide-brimmed hat, and insect repellent for the plants.

They weren't actually for him, he realized with a sinking feeling, except for the shoes. Everything else was for his chores. Maybe some things do stay the same, he thought. Though he smiled and thanked her as he should, he felt robbed of not receiving a book, or a ball, or something he'd like.

* * *

It seemed surreal when a year slipped silently passed them.

"It's a year now," Harry whispered to the still awake Dudley. "It feels odd, doesn't it?"

Dudley turned around in his bed. "Yeah, odd." He began to talk again shortly after the five months. He still didn't have as much to say as he used to. Harry wondered if it was a blessing or a curse. A silent, brooding Dudley was almost as bad as a boasting Dudley.

Harry bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Dudley. I mean, I lost my parents when I was a baby, but I didn't know them. You knew Vernon so-"

"Shut up, Harry, or I'm telling mum."

"Okay." Harry raised his hands in surrender, realizing it wasn't the best time to talk about Vernon when it happened on the same day a year ago. He rubbed the back of his head, messing up his already messy locks.

Silence entered the room. Outside, cars were passing, going to the newly built community down the road. It was all Petunia wanted to talk about, her gossiping nature being forced upon the two ten-year-olds. Her gossip was on hold the entire day yesterday and would surely be gone from her today as well, her energy drained away by Vernon's death.

She always bought things as well when she was down so she'd come back with three or more bags after work.

Harry wondered where she found the money to shop when her job as a waitress didn't pay much.

"Why do you talk so much?" Dudley asked suddenly. "You never used to when dad was alive."

"Because ..." Harry stopped, not knowing how to finish. Why was he talking like that? It was always 'yes, aunt Petunia,' or 'yes, uncle Vernon.' He never noticed it but looking back he knew he somehow started acting like a kid.

Not true. He still did all the work and sometimes Petunia would yell and call him a freak when she was in a mood. Sometimes Dudley did the same but those were farther and fewer than before. "I guess ... uh ... huh, I don't know. I guess because I didn't like the changes?" It came out as a question in his uncertainty.

In the darkness, Harry saw a flash on Dudley's cheek before he heard the quiet pitiful laugh.

"I miss him, Harry."

Harry couldn't find the heart to say he didn't.

"I drew you last year."

"What?"

"I said-"

"No, I heard you. Why?"

Dudley shrugged. "I guess because I don't like changes either." Harry looked away, a lump in his throat.

"Can I?" Harry asked, not completely finishing the question in fear of looking stupid.

His cousin sat up, disappeared over the edge of his bed, then came back up with a thick sketchbook. Dudley switched on the lamp between their beds.

"Here it is. Don't bend it."

Harry's face met Harry's face, well, a resemblance of Harry's face. It was more a blot of shaky lines, uneven eyes and hair, and an oddly shaped face. "This is-" Harry's body betrayed him before he could make his thanks. Dudley stared blankly at him as he laughed, his entire body shaking, tears leaking uncontrollably and trailing down his cheeks. Only the blush dusting his nose gave away that he was embarrassed.

"N-No, it's great. Really, it is. I'm happy you drew me." And Harry was shocked to find he was, in all honesty, glad. Dudley had become a better artist within the rest of the year, though he now focused on animals and dragons. "Is this why you kept breaking your pencils?"

Dudley was now most definitely blushing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I couldn't get your scar right."

Harry grinned and bowed over, laughing and remembering. "I thought you were mad at me for breathing or something!"

Dudley smiled, smaller than Harry's, and chuckled as well.

In the doorway, Petunia watched in worry. They had one more year and, if Harry proved to be just as freakish as Lily and James and the rest of those people, then the timid sense of family would be lost. She brought a finger to her mouth and bit her nail down.

She wouldn't allow it, she decided, they took away her sister, they won't take her nephew as well. Not Harry, not now when he was needed, not when Dudley needed him to laugh. Inside, she felt her chest warm as she watched them - two very normal boys bonding over a terrible first time drawing. She prayed it would last.

* * *

Jerome Blackwell quickly ran into the near-empty restaurant to get away from the ferocious mid-morning storm. As he shook rainwater off, anyone with observant eyes would realize the water wasn't actually there but were appearing where he gestured. He was completely dry. Behind him, with no sense of urgency or tact, Miles Grain, now Andrew Yaeger, strolled in, bone dry. His colorlessness drove more than one pair of eyes to him, including one Petunia Dursley who couldn't remember where she'd seen them.

"Hi, there," he began, smiling, "We're looking for a place to stay. Do you know where we could bunk down?"

Petunia tightened her lips at the strange abruptness but held her tongue. She did give them an odd once over before she recommended a nearby hotel. Jerome waved his hand discreetly and, before she knew it, Petunia had decided to let them stay at her house.

After her shift, the three left, walking to her nearby home.

"Has Dudley been having any more dreams, Ms. Dursley?" Jerome asked once they'd arrived, his eyes catching Petunia's.

"Yes, two more, but he won't tell me. I know he draws them. Why-"

"And Harry? Is he magical?"

"Maybe. I hope not. Wait, I don't-"

"Thank you. That'd be all." Jerome smiled and covered Petunia's eyes briefly before a blinding white light came from his hand. Petunia stood, dazed, with one hand on the doorknob, struggling to remember the walk home.

"So, he's Harry Potter the wizarding world's savior. Dudley Dursley, his cousin is a seer. How fun." Miles frowned and stepped back, disappearing in a gray haze.

"Ah, you're so dramatic," Jerome said with a smirk, following him in a dark green haze of his own.

Inside, Dudley suddenly felt the need to draw.

* * *

It was a letter. A letter. And Petunia was treating it as though it were the plague. Harry rubbed his fingers from where the letter had been ripped from his hands by his aunt, a thin line on his thumb began a slow bleed. He flinched and stuck it in his mouth. His aunt gathered the other letter that had been sent with the first and carelessly burnt them with a candle lighter.

In another corner, Dudley watched in horrified confusion, his hands still out as though he were still holding the letter addressed to him. His mum had never taken something away from him before so why now?

"Uh, mum, what are you doing?"

Petunia jerked up and smiled shakily. "N-Nothing. Those were just-just-just bills. Bad, bad bills. You don't want them." She laughed. Something was bothering her, the boys knew, and they shared a glance, unconvinced. "Boy, go work-work on the garden and Dudley, sweetie, go do what you want."

Harry automatically did what he was told, but Dudley did the same instead of doing what his mum not too subtly suggested. But they left Petunia alone which was what she wanted, no, longed for.

She stared at the ruined Hogwarts letters in disappointment. Her son, her baby, had been affected by the freak. Now, they were saying he was magical! Petunia rested a hand on her chest and breathed. It wasn't going to happen, not now, not when they were finally getting their lives together two years after Vernon's death. They were becoming a family, damn it! And she won't allow them to ruin it.

Petunia slid to the floor, hands to her face, and sobbed for her poor child. Behind her stood the ever watching Miles.

* * *

A/N: And I don't know what I just wrote but I have to admit I love Jerome and Miles. They are so much fun to write and will, without doubt, be featured more, if not in this story then in a story all of their own. In all seriousness, I really don't know where this story will lead. It started off as Harry is Voldemort/evil but ended up in ... this ... whatever this is. I'll be expanding. So, yeah, Dudley has a destiny of his own and it has something to do with the Charmed fandom. (That's why it's a crossover)

I hope everyone who decided to read this enjoyed it. Next chapter will most likely not be this long. It will cover Petunia's attempts to keep Harry and Dudley from going to the school and will include some canon happenings such as them going to that house on the sea that Vernon originally took them to. Some Hagrid will be there.

The question I'd like to leave this off with is this: should Jerome and Miles be good or bad guys? Either way, I already have a path in mind.


End file.
